


When Enough Isn't Good Enough

by Silberias



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jollock - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wanted the three of them to be together, and he knew that if he kept Molly and John in close proximity to one another for long enough they would sort it out themselves. Jollock origin story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Enough Isn't Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to say other than I'm giving out a challenge to the other Jollock writers out there to put something up by Christmas, hopefully something fluffy yes? It doesn't have to be an origin story or anything, just--Jollock. Or at least Jollock-y. This fic is me putting my money where my mouth is.

Molly knew it had been too good to be true. The whirlwind of Sherlock sweeping up to her and sweeping her off her feet with a kiss and tight embrace—Sherlock actually calling her when he had to break plans. There were also the dates they had when he would come to the morgue and let her monologue an autopsy as she did it—the way he would tuck his knees up to his chin, the sparkle of his eyes as she elaborated on why certain conclusions could be drawn, how certain tests could reveal the truth.

Seeing him wrapping an arm around John Watson, cradling the other man’s head with practiced ease, was truly and completely awful. But she knew, somewhere deep in her heart, that she was never meant to be Sherlock’s one and only. That was just the way of things.

As he came away from the kiss, Sherlock’s head twitched a little and his eyes flicked towards her. Molly squared her shoulders, meeting his eyes for a second and then turning around. She would pretend it hadn’t happened until Sherlock brought it up. He was a good enough man that he would, eventually. Not good enough to kiss someone else where she wouldn’t find him, but no one was perfect.

True to her prediction, two days later Sherlock appeared at her elbow while she was in line for coffee. There was a graveness to his face that told Molly everything she needed to know. He was going to do the right thing—own up to what she’d seen, break up with her, and ask to remain friends. Molly knew it would be hard, but she would probably be able to do it.

When it was her turn to order, Sherlock stepped forward too—he bought her coffee and one for himself too. The order was perfect, exactly what she wanted, but it made her sad that this was to be the end of it. The barely-there touch at her lower back was going to be the last she ever had, as they walked outside with their drinks in hand. Once they were away from the crowded shop fronts, he wrapped his arm nearly around her waist to bring her close.

“Sherlock—I don’t think—“

“Molly, please let me speak.” It wasn’t fair—she was the one getting two-timed, it ought to be her turn to talk, but she let him. Life around Sherlock wasn’t fair, she knew that as well as anyone who knew him. Instead of getting mad at him she lifted her cup to her lips and took a long sip. If he wanted to talk, he could talk.

“I personally don’t think this needs to be said but John said it was for the best,” her stomach churned, “I love you. I want to spend my life with you, and give you everything you need and want that I can. There. Said. _That being said_ , I also want to spend my life with John.”

He paused and took a drink of his coffee, keeping his eyes fixed forwards as he clearly searched for words.

“When I wake up with you, I half expect his presence to be nearby—behind me, or in front of you. I want him to be there to look out for you, and I want you to rely and trust him as much as I do. I know that that doesn’t come at the drop of a hat though. I know—” he grimaced, “— _it has been explained to me_ —that my needs are of a rare sort and I can expect a string of failed relationships after you break up with me.”

“John explained it to you then.”

“In his way. He, ah, informed me that I should have spoken to you first about this rather than him.” He lapsed into silence while Molly tried to figure out what to say. Sherlock had come to see her, fully expecting a row ending with them breaking up—but she didn’t want to lose him. Long ago she’d chosen to just roll with it concerning Sherlock, and something told her to do that here. Sherlock wasn’t proposing that she sleep with John, he was letting her know about what he needed to be happy.

It hurt that she wasn’t enough for him, but it also made sense. Mundane things of all sorts weren’t enough for him, of course a relationship wouldn’t be exempt.

She and John made do, after that. Molly had to tell herself, often, that Sherlock wasn’t cheating on her and that for what they had she was more than enough. Early on she couldn’t begin to fathom how he could so evenly divide his attention between two people, without leaving one of them feeling left out. Sometimes they watched movies together—her on the right, John on the left—and John would get up to get popcorn or beer or wine or take a piss, and Sherlock would hold his hand right up until he was out of reach. Those times Molly would feel a sting of jealousy and anger at Sherlock—he was just being selfish. He was allowed to see two people, he was allowed to cancel dates with both of them if a case came up or he got bored or whatever, he thought nothing of taking control of either of their evenings because he felt like it. Molly and John were kind of expected to go along with it, too.

The hurt started to lessen, however, when John invited her over early one evening in April.

Molly, I know that we made plans for dinner out but I was wondering if maybe you’d come over early and we could cook something up and stay in instead?

She had agreed, and been surprised when Sherlock was nowhere in sight when she arrived. John’s smile was warm, and the glances he turned towards her were like the ones he gave Sherlock—mouth just barely open, tongue lingering on one canine, looking through his eyelashes at her. They worked closely through cooking dinner, having one another give second-opinions on the broth or the brownness of the roast. John left Molly to cut the meat while he set the table for the three of them, and then together they brought the meal to the table as well.

Molly hardly noticed John’s arm snake around her waist, but that was because in her excitement she turned to him and—flat footed because he wasn’t as tall as Sherlock—pecked him once on the lips. They’d both frozen afterwards, her hands on his cheeks, his arm around her waist, their lips just an inch apart. In his eyes she could see him debating the same things she was—were they off-limits to one another in Sherlock’s mind? Did they have that same capacity to share and divide as he did? John’s other hand came up to cup her cheek as he smiled a little, leaning forward that inch to close the gap between them.

The kiss was soft and sweet, and Molly didn’t mind when John held her closer. If she was honest, this was probably something Sherlock had wanted from the beginning—that he felt he wasn’t enough for either of them alone, but with the help of the third then they could proceed.

And, Molly thought as she heard Sherlock pound up the stairs, he wasn’t exactly wrong.


End file.
